


A Start of a Beautiful Something

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is the owner of a failing café in West Hollywood. Closing the place down seems all but inevitable until one day, minor celebrity Jesse St. James walks in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a part of the Blaine Exchange on Beyond_Dapper for Rrrowr.
> 
>  
> 
> I poke a bit of fun at fandom in this fic. Please just know that it is done with love and that none of Jesse’s fans are intentionally based on real life people.

  
Blaine is about two minutes away from banging his head against the wall of his tiny closet of an office. Every single day since he took over as owner of Rick’s Café has been spent stressing and fretting over how to make their limited budget stretch to cover all of the supplies he needs to make the business run. He’s only 25 and already at risk for heart attack. It’s either that or an emotional breakdown, whichever comes first. 

His phone chirps on the desk next to him with a Twitter notification, and he takes a much needed break from his mental debate over whether he should fire the café’s longtime pastry chef and get a weekly shipment of baked goods from a wholesaler instead. He’s already had to fire their cook and reduce the menu to things that could be quickly assembled behind the counter; he doesn’t want to have to fire Tommy, too. He’s been with them forever but he can’t afford to keep him, either. 

The tweets are from Jesse St. James, former American Idol contestant, sometimes actor, and universal inspirer of lust, of course. He doesn’t get mobile updates from anyone else. 

 **JesseStJames: Heading out to an audition. NEED CAFFEINE.**  

 **JesseStJames: Trying someplace new. I’ll let you all know if it’s up to my exacting standards.**  

Blaine tosses his phone back onto what serves as his tiny desk, a simple wooden table wedged between a filing cabinet and a cheap set of shelves, and slouches down in his hard wooden chair a bit. He’s working a 12 hour shift today; he deserves five minutes of fantasy time. 

His fantasies about Jesse never used to involve much clothing but lately his subconscious has been casting Jesse in the role of a modern day Prince Charming. It always starts with Jesse stumbling into the café one day, and after meeting Blaine, he becomes determined to use his moderate fame to help save the café and win Blaine’s love along the way. Just as he’s getting to the part where he hands Jesse his latte with a smile, a wink, and his number written on the cardboard sleeve, Everett shouts his name from the front, startling him out of his pleasant reverie. 

Blaine had told Everett he would be on his own for the next few hours while Blaine handled paperwork, so if he’s yelling for him, that means that one of three things has just gone wrong. 1) They’ve just run out of something vital, 2) a customer is complaining and wants to speak to the manager, or 3) someone called out sick for their shift again. Blaine hasn’t heard the phone ring in a while, though, so it probably isn’t that last one. 

 _The day is young, though,_  Blaine thinks cynically. 

He sees him before the kitchen door even swings all the way open. His perfectly waved hair is pushed back from his forehead with a pair of sunglasses, and he’s wearing a simple black T-shirt that stretches across his chest almost obscenely. Jesse St. James, live and in the flesh, is standing in the middle of his café. 

Everett pushes an empty cup into his hand and says, “Hey, can you make this guy’s tea? I really need to go smoke. Thanks.” Then he’s gone and it’s just Blaine, Jesse, and Walter, who always comes into the café between 1 and 4 on weekdays to use their wifi and drink nothing but water over in the corner. 

Blaine gets over his initial shock and checks the cup for the order because he didn’t hear a word his brother said and finds nothing there. So Blaine takes a deep breath and says, “Excuse me?” 

Jesse looks up from his phone and if he notices that his barista has suddenly gotten a haircut and changed his shirt, he doesn’t say anything, just smiles pleasantly in a way that makes Blaine’s heart thump in his chest just a little bit faster. 

“What was your order again? My brother didn’t say before he ran off.” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to clarify that Everett is his brother when anyone with eyes can see that they’re twins. 

“Orange spice tea,” Jesse says, and if it looks like he checks Blaine out, it must be his imagination. 

“Very good then,” Blaine says, slipping into a crappy British accent. He has no idea why he did that, either. 

Jesse arches an amused eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything and turns his attention back to his phone while Blaine scoops the loose leaf tea into a bag, pins it shut with a wooden stir stick, and balances it across the rim of the cup to steep. He thinks about writing his number on the cup but he dismisses the thought almost as soon as it comes. If there’s an actual chance that Jesse could promote the café to his legion of Twitter followers, Blaine doesn’t want to mess that up with a creepy sexual advance that is bound to get rejected anyway. 

“Jesse?” Blaine calls. “Your tea is ready.” 

Jesse smiles at him when he retrieves his order and makes a show of looking at the blank side of the cup. Blaine smiles back weakly, mentally smacking himself in the head for outing himself as a fan. He might as well have asked for an autograph and a picture. 

Jesse glances down at Blaine’s name tag and says, “Thanks,  _Blaine_.” 

He’s always hated it when people do that, he finds it overly familiar and kind of douchey, but it doesn’t bother him when Jesse does it. Instead, it gives him a little thrill to hear the way Jesse stretches out the “l” in his name. 

Jesse turns away and Blaine pretends to wipe down the already spotless counter while he drizzles some honey into his cup, trashes the teabag, and snaps on a to go lid. Jesse looks back over his shoulder as he pushes the door open and Blaine feels his hand rise of its own volition to wave a silent goodbye and it just sort of stays there, pointing out how obvious and awkward he is, even when Blaine tries to tell himself to lower it. Jesse smirks, brings his sunglasses down over his eyes, and steps fully into the bright sunshine outside and is gone, probably never to be seen again except on Blaine’s television screen and in his fantasies. 

“Dude, wasn’t that guy an American Idol reject?” Walter calls across the empty café. 

“Shut up, Walter,” Everett says, strolling casually back behind the counter. He tells Blaine, “So, that was fun, wasn’t it? Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.” 

“Shut up, Everett,” Blaine shoots back and stomps off to hide in his makeshift office where his phone blinks up at him with more Twitter notifications. 

 **JesseStJames: Be sure to check out Rick’s Café in West Hollywood. It’s an oddly charming little place.**

 **JesseStJames: Off Fountain and Fairfax, next to Royal Thai. RT@xJessesgirl95x Where is it?**

 **JesseStJames: I don’t know, I had tea. The staff is pretty hot, though. RT@saintlysinner How’s the coffee?**  

Blaine stares at his phone, not quite able to believe what he’s reading. Jesse St. James thinks  _he’s_  hot and just told all 221,645 of his followers to try out  _his_  café. Of course, only a small fraction of those followers live close enough to do so, especially since a lot of Jesse’s fanbase is German, but Jesse’s tweets were bound to generate some buzz for the café. Blaine opens up Twitter on his laptop and searches the #Sinners hashtag and sure enough, @sinner4StJames and @JesseStSexy are already organizing a meet-up for all of Jesse’s SoCal fans the next day. 

 **sinner4StJames  
.@MrsStJames We’ll just hang out all day and see if he comes in. If he doesn’t we can just talk about how sexy he is. #Sinners **

 **JesseStSexy  
I’m so excited to meet you all!!! I’m going to get there at 10 and I’ll be wearing my Jesse-inspired leather jacket. #Sinners** 

It’s probably nothing. They might have a sudden influx of leather jacket and scarf-wearing teenaged girls for a few days but once they realize Jesse doesn’t spend his every waking moment at the café, Rick’s will go back to its sad and unknown status and Blaine will be back at square one, broke and wondering who he’ll have to fire next. Still, if they can just manage to gain a handful of new regulars, it would be better than nothing. He can still hope that Jesse’s unexpected blessing will keep them in the black for a month or two longer. 

\--- 

Their monthly dinner at Cucina Urbana with their parents that night is predictably tense, full of hastily changed subjects and overly polite requests to pass the salt, but his father manages to hold back on what he really wants to say until they’re half way through dessert. 

“So. How are things going with the café?” 

Across from Blaine, his mother sighs and noisily taps at the sugar layer of her crème brulee but doesn’t offer any help, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be on his side about this. 

“Just fine, Dad. Thanks for asking,” Blaine lies through a tight smile. 

His father hums disapprovingly and says, “Everett tells me you’ve been struggling.” 

Blaine turns to his brother, outraged at the betrayal, but Everett just shrugs and says, “What? It’s true.” 

“Alright,” Blaine admits, “things have been a little tight lately but we’re still paying the bills and—“ 

“Look, Blaine,” his father says, his hands spread wide and a seemingly understanding smile on his face. “I know you’ve had fun trying to revive the old place but I think it’s time to admit that there’s just no saving it. There’s no shame in knowing when to cut your losses, son.” 

“Mom, are you seriously going to let him say that? Rick’s  _belongs_  in the family. I can’t just  _cut my losses_ ,” Blaine says, pleading for some kind of backup from the only other person at the table who cares about the café. 

Everett may work there but his loyalty to the family business only extends as far as his steady paycheck. Their mom had practically grown up in her parents’ café, though. Working behind the counter had been her first job and it had been her idea for Blaine to buy the family business off of his ailing grandmother when he finished his MBA last spring. 

She sighs and sets her dessert spoon on the edge of her plate before she finally looks him in the eye. “Honey, you know how I feel about that place. I want nothing more than to see it be as successful as it was when your grandparents ran it, but I think it may be time to start looking for buyers. You’re working yourself to the bone and you’re dragging your brother down with you.” 

“Hey, Blaine isn’t dragging me  _anywhere_. If I wasn’t working with him, I’d just be across the street at the Coffee Bean doing the same damn thing. At least this way, I get to help out family,” Everett says. 

Blaine gives him a small, grateful smile but before he can say anything, their waiter places their check in the center of the table. Blaine reaches for it automatically and his dad gives him a pitying look. 

“I don’t think you have the money to be buying us all dinner, do you?” he says. 

Blaine stands abruptly, his napkin sliding off of his lap. “No, you’re right, of course. Thanks for such a  _lovely_  meal but I really should be getting back to my failure of a business now. Call me when you decide to stop being a dick and start supporting me for once in my life.” 

“ _Blaine_ ,“ his mother hisses at him, but he’s already across the restaurant and out the door and sucking in the cool night air by the lungful. 

He turns left and starts walking. It’s only a fifteen minute walk to Rick’s. Blaine had chosen the location of the restaurant because he knew he had a limited amount of time before he had to be back at work and he’d sold his car last month to cover some expenses. 

He hears pounding footsteps on the pavement and isn’t surprised when Everett appears and falls in step beside him. They walk silently for about a block but Everett veers into him and nudges his shoulder and Blaine nudges back and feels the angry rushing of his blood calm. Everything else in his life might be shit but least he still has Everett to lean on. 

Everett lights a cigarette and Blaine snags it from his lips and brings it to his own, inhaling deeply. He chokes on the smoke because it’s been ages since he’s done this and Everett laughs at him while he lights another one for himself. 

“They don’t  _want_  to see you fail. You know that, right?” he says. 

“Ev, don’t start,” Blaine says on an exhale. 

“Fine,” Everett says and it’s nothing but the sound of their steps on the sidewalk, the burn of their cigarettes, and the occasional passing car for a solid minute before he asks, “Do you really have to go back to work tonight? You need a night off, man.” 

“Karen called out again so I have to close,” Blaine explains. 

“You really need to fire that girl.” 

“Yeah, but then I’d have to work  _all_  of her shifts,” Blaine says. 

“Mmm,” Everett agrees. “I guess I’ll come keep you company, then.” 

“I thought you were supposed to hang out with Cameron tonight.” 

“I am. He can come too.” Everett pulls out his phone and taps out a quick text to his boyfriend, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “He has a paper to write tonight and he can just as easily do that at the café.” 

“Fine, just don’t let me catch you fucking in the pantry again,” Blaine says. 

“We weren’t  _fucking_ , he was giving me a blowjob. Has it been so long that you don’t know the difference anymore?” Everett teases. 

Blaine ignores the question and tells him, “Either way, it’s unsanitary.” 

Everett laughs at him and they walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. The café is quiet when they get there, just as they expected, and they spend most of the night playing cards and singing oldies into broom handles while Cameron types away at his laptop and shoots glares at them over the rim of his glasses when they sing too loudly. 

It’s moments like these that make the café more than just a job. He can remember doing the same things when his grandparents ran it, his grandma spinning him around and around on the waxed linoleum while the radio played Motown’s greatest hits or his grandpa teaching Everett and him how to play poker whenever there was a lull in customers. 

Blaine is right in the middle of a rousing rendition of  _I Will Survive_  when the bell over the door rings and Blaine looks up from his enthusiastic performance to see Jesse St. James standing just inside the door, looking unfairly hot and highly amused. 

“Don’t stop on my account.” 

Blaine ignores Jesse’s remark and Cameron and Everett’s poorly hidden snickers and jumps off of the chair he’s standing on. He props his broom up against the wall and retreats behind the counter to ask, “What can I get you?” 

Jesse orders a white mocha and Everett jumps up from where he had been sketching Cameron’s profile at the end of the counter to prepare it, leaving Blaine no way to avoid Jesse’s intense stare. 

“You were here this morning, too,” he says. “Doesn’t your boss ever let you go home?” 

“I’m the boss, actually.” He can’t help the note of pride that creeps into his voice when he says it. The place may be falling down around his ears but it’s his for now. “And I would if I could but my closer called in sick so I had to come back in.” 

“So who’s Rick, then?” Jesse asks, motioning to the painted Rick’s Café sign on the front window. 

“Humphrey Bogart. This place used to belong to my grandparents and my grandmother’s favorite movie was  _Casablanca_ ,” Blaine tells him. 

“Ah. That explains your name, then. I had thought that maybe your mother was an avid John Hughes fan with poor spelling skills, but naming you after Rick Blaine makes much more sense. And let me guess, your name must be Victor,” he says, looking over Blaine’s shoulder. 

“Nope,” Everett says, passing Jesse his coffee. “As the eldest, I escaped grandma’s crazy  _Casablanca_  obsession. I’m Everett, after our dad’s dad. We have an Aunt Ilsa and a cousin named Victor, though.” 

“She named Mom Louisa after Louis Renault, too,” Blaine reminds him. 

“Now that’s dedication,” Jesse says, impressed. 

“You don’t think it’s a little creepy?” Blaine asks. 

“Are you kidding? I can only hope to one day inspire that kind of obsession in my own fans.” 

“I’m sure you already do. You’re very inspirational to your fans,” Blaine tells him. 

He winces at how horribly  _obvious_  he sounds. There goes his chance to pretend that he just recognizes Jesse from TV. No, he’s gone and marked himself as a True Fan. Everett coughs loudly behind him, probably to cover up a laugh, and Blaine feels his face heat up as Jesse’s mouth tilts into a slow smirk. 

“Well, I couldn’t do any of it without you guys,” Jesse says. “I have to get going but it was nice talking to you, Blaine.” He holds his hand out and instead of the polite, impersonal shake Blaine is expecting, Jesse just holds his hand for a moment, brushing his thumb over the back of Blaine’s before he finally lets go. Everett receives only a small nod in parting. 

Once Jesse is gone, Cameron and Everett’s loud laughter echoing behind him, and Blaine sags against the counter and wonders just how badly he humiliated himself with his awkward fanboying. His phone vibrates against his leg and Blaine digs it out of his pocket to read the Twitter notification, dreading what Jesse has just told the world about him. 

 **JesseStJames: Turns out the hot barista from this morning is one of my adoring fans. I wonder if I can get free coffee out of this.**  

Blaine rolls his eyes but smiles because Jesse St. James just called him hot for the second time today and the compliment burns through his lingering embarrassment until all that’s left is more bad decisions and false courage. He opens up his Twitter app and types out, “@JesseStJames Don’t count on it. I like you but I have a business to run. ;)” 

Jesse never tweets back and Blaine tries not to take it personally. His tweet probably got lost in the flood of @replies Jesse gets whenever he tweets anything. If he spends the rest of the night thinking his phone is vibrating in his pocket, well, people feel phantom vibrations all the time. 

\--- 

When Blaine gets in the next day at 3:30, there’s a group of about fifteen women of varying ages sitting in Walter’s usual corner and having a loud discussion about whether RPF is an invasion of privacy or a natural extension of the fandom experience. 

“I just don’t even understand how you can be in this fandom and look down your nose at RPF. I mean, it’s not like we’re tinhatting. We know it’s not  _real_ ,” one of them says. Some of them nod in agreement and the conversation gets louder and more garbled as they all try to talk over each other. 

“Have they been here all day?” Blaine asks Nick as he ties on his apron. 

“I don’t know. Some of them have been here since before I came in but they’ve been coming and going, too. Is it cool if I go, man? They were talking about cock rings and vibrators earlier and it was kinda weird to hear from a bunch of chicks, you know?” Nick glances at them warily, as if they’re going to strap him to a chair and make him listen while they talk about sex toys some more. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Blaine tells him and Nick disappears into the back before Blaine can even blink. 

Blaine goes to work restocking the condiment baskets and tunes out the ladies’ conversation until it’s nothing more than white noise in the background. He looks up when the bell over the door chimes and the voices quickly silence as every head in the café, including Blaine’s, swivels to watch Jesse stride up to the counter. 

“Hi, Jesse. What can I get you?” Blaine asks as casually as he can. 

Jesse doesn’t seem to notice the ladies in the corner but Blaine can feel their eyes on him, watching his every move and listening to every word. He glances over at them and some of them look away and pretend they weren’t watching but most of them just keep staring with hungry eyes. 

“I’ll have a large iced tea and an almond poppyseed muffin,” Jesse says, handing over a twenty. 

Blaine rings him up and drops his change into his hand, which Jesse promptly drops into the tip jar in front of the register. Blaine’s eyes widen but before he can decide if he should protest Jesse’s generosity, one of the girls approaches the counter. He turns away to make Jesse’s order so that he can pretend he doesn’t hear their conversation. He does a pretty good job not paying attention until the girl asks if he’s “the one Jesse mentioned on Twitter last night,” and then he nearly bangs the top of his head of the pastry display case. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jesse stage whispers. “Look at him.” 

The girl giggles and Jesse sends her away, saying he’ll be over in a minute to say hi to everyone and take pictures. Blaine straightens and hands Jesse his tea and muffin, watching the girl report her news back to the rest of the group. 

“Oh god, they’re going to write fanfiction about me, aren’t they?” Blaine says, staring at the table of giggling girls in horror. 

“Probably,” Jesse replies, looking after them with a fond smile. “If you want to read some, you should look up Patronsaintofsex on Tumblr. She has a really fast turn around and her knowledge of gay sex is incredibly accurate considering she’s a straight 17-year-old girl.” 

 _Jesus. Not only does he read RPF, he reads_ bad  _RPF_ , Blaine thinks. He doesn’t know if he wants to pretend he doesn’t know what Tumblr is or offer to send him links to the quality fics. 

“That’s okay, I think I’ll pass,” he says, and he really will try to resist looking for himself in fics for as long as he can because in this case, ignorance may really be bliss. 

\--- 

A few days pass and Blaine keeps an eye out for Jesse, because coming in twice in one day and then again the next day had to mean he intended to become a regular, right? Despite what Everett thinks, though, Blaine doesn’t actually work at the café nonstop. Sometimes he even sleeps. He refrains from asking his staff if they’ve seen him come in only because he doubts any of them would know who he is. Jesse is a celebrity, but only just barely, and Blaine has a bunch of hipster snobs working for him who would never be caught dead watching American Idol. Everett only knows who he is because of Blaine’s slight obsession and if he sees him, he doesn’t say anything. Everett has never passed up an opportunity to tease him before, so Blaine is left to conclude that Jesse has moved on to someplace else for his caffeine fix, probably scared off by his rabid fangirls and maybe even by Blaine himself. 

Jesse’s fans keep coming, in smaller and smaller groups each day, but Blaine doesn’t try to engage them beyond taking their orders and their money. He doesn’t know how long they’ll stick around but he hopes it will be for a while because they’re all very diligent about buying something once an hour, maybe out of fear that Blaine will kick them out for loitering. 

He finally breaks down and goes searching for himself on Jesse’s fansites after the fifth fangirl greets him by name. He stopped wearing his nametag out of paranoia after the first one, so it can’t be that. Jesse’s online stalkers must be gathering and spreading information about him, too. 

He starts with the posts dated the day he met Jesse and the first few are amusing. There’s some confusion over whether his name is Blaine or Blair and speculation on whether he’s dating anyone or if he’s even gay. It gets weird around the time Blaine sees the first picture of himself in a post titled “Hotty Barista Spotted.” It’s blurry and obviously from a cell phone camera and he’s doing something at the espresso machine. Based on what he’s wearing, it was probably taken the day after Jesse first came in. He stopped being surprised at the tenacity of fangirls ages ago but it’s still weird to see his own face in a blurry stalker photo. Still, nothing feels creepy or like they’re really overstepping any boundaries until the fangirls discover Everett. He can handle the ensuing threesome fanfiction, he might even bookmark a few, but the way the information comes out leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

It starts with another photo, a lot less blurry this time, but taken from further away. It’s Everett and Cameron, making out in what looks like the alley behind the café. Their hands are all over each other and Everett’s head is thrown back so Cameron can kiss his neck and the obviously very intimate moment is captioned, “Hotty Barista is cheating on Jesse! That asshole!” 

Suddenly, he wants to tear the whole internet down. How dare they accuse him of cheating when he and Jesse aren’t even dating? How dare they call him “manslut” and “asshole” and “gold digging heart breaker”? He would never do that to Jesse, and besides, it’s not even him. It’s his dumbass brother who can’t seem to get off unless there’s a chance of someone catching him in the act. 

He wants to just stop there. He’s disgusted with the lot of them and ashamed that he used to join in on this type of speculation. The next post is about Everett’s real identity, though, complete with two side-by-side blurry cell phone photos to compare the small differences in their appearance and a stern note from the community moderator about bashing. He definitely should have stopped there. Then maybe he could have gone on living his life without fearing that his baby pictures were going to somehow find their way onto the internet. 

He doesn’t stop, though. He hits Next Entry and skips over a handful of fanfics and a ship war between St. Lambert ‘shippers and St. Berry ‘shippers, baffled that anyone was still ‘shipping Jesse with _Rachel_ , since they’ve been split up for over a year, before he finally hits another post about himself. 

The subject line is “OMG He’s one of us,” and the poster has taken the time to screen cap and compile all of his tweets about Jesse, starting with the one he had sent Jesse that first night and going all the way back to when Jesse was on  _American Idol_  three years ago. Halfway down the first page of comments is a note from an anonymous poster. 

 _Dear Blaine,_

 _Since we now know there’s more than a slight chance that you may be reading this, I want to take this opportunity to say hello. You should know that we all pretty much think you’re great and we’re really rooting for you. The thought of Jesse falling for a regular, sweet guy like you is like a real life Cinderella story._

 _Also, you’ve been very nice letting us stake out your café while we wait around hoping Jesse will come in. Thank you for not kicking us out even though you knew exactly why we were there._

 _Sincerely,_

 _An L.A. Sinner_

 _P.S. Sorry about the mix-up with your brother._

 _P.P.S. You totally deserve the nickname Hotty Barista, so sorry, but that probably won’t be going away any time soon._  

Blaine closes the browser window, powers down the laptop, and then backs away from the desk. He doesn’t go anywhere near his computer for the rest of the day. 

When Jesse finally makes his reappearance, it’s late on Friday night. There are a handful of kids who are too young to sneak into a bar crowded around one table and an older couple that’s obviously on a first date talking quietly and making nervous eyes at each other in a side booth. Other than that, it’s quiet and Blaine takes a few minutes to slide into a booth of his own to play a few games of solitaire before he has to start his pre-closing routine. 

The bell chimes and Jesse saunters in, heading straight for Blaine’s booth. Blaine stops shuffling, ready to jump up and make him a late night espresso, but Jesse sits down across from him before his butt even leaves the vinyl. 

“Jesse, good to see you again. Can I get you something?” Blaine asks, trying not to let the stupid grin that always appears in Jesse’s presence overtake his face. 

“No, I’m here to talk, not for coffee,” Jesse says. 

“Okay. What would you like to talk about?” 

“I’ve noticed that you seem to be struggling. There are almost never any customers in here and you and your workers seem to have plenty of time on your hands.” He looks pointedly at the deck of cards in front of Blaine. 

Bile rises in his throat and Blaine’s hands curl into fists around the deck of cards. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.” 

“It is, though. I like coming here. It’s quiet enough that I can get a coffee without being accosted by fans and I really like your lemon raspberry muffins,” Jesse says. 

Blaine’s hands relax and he smiles, oddly touched that Jesse has called out Blaine’s favorite. “Thanks. They’re my grandmother’s recipe.” 

“I know. Everett told me,” Jesse says. 

“Wait, you’ve been in since I saw you on Tuesday?” Blaine is going to kill his brother for not mentioning it. 

“Of course,” Jesse says, sitting back and throwing an arm up on the back of the booth. “I told you, I like coming here, which is why I want to do something to help. Where am I going to get lemon raspberry muffins if you have to close? Now, part of the appeal is that no one comes here, so we’re going to have to find a happy medium, something that will generate sufficient buzz to get people interested but not too interested.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” Blaine asks, intrigued. 

“With a concert. Well, more like a private show. I’ll invite a handful of celebrities and a select group of fans and once people hear about it, they’ll be dying to come here.” Jesse smiles as if his plan is brilliant enough to cure cancer. 

“You really think that’ll work?” It seems a little farfetched but it couldn’t hurt to try anyway. If nothing else, he’ll get to listen to Jesse’s flawless voice in person. 

“Absolutely. All you need is a little good press and I can provide that,” Jesse assures him. 

“I don’t really get why you’re doing this, Jesse.” Blaine says, shaking his head. “What do you want from me in return, free coffee and muffins? You know I can’t afford to pay you.” 

“I don’t need the extra money and while I wouldn’t say no to free muffins I was thinking more along the lines of your phone number,” Jesse tells him, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows at him suggestively. 

Blaine sits back and shuffles the deck of cards, giving himself a second to think before he answers. The thing is, Blaine would have jumped at this chance two weeks ago. He might not have even bothered with the number and the possibility of a date. He might have just dragged Jesse into the pantry by his stupid hipster scarf and had his way with him. He’s still considering that, sort of. Things are different now, though. Jesse is no longer elusive masturbatory material but a customer and a potential benefactor and a person with actual thoughts and feelings. Blaine doesn’t know if he wants to see if the real Jesse can match up to his fantasies. 

“What happens if I say no?” Blaine asks finally. 

Jesse tilts his head to the side and looks at him as though Blaine has just kicked him in the shins and then stomped on his puppy. “Are you saying you don’t want to go out with me?” 

“I’m saying,” Blaine says slowly, choosing his words carefully, “that your idea sounds like a perfect opportunity for my business but that I don’t want its success to be contingent on whether I agree to date you or not.” 

Jesse sighs and stands and says, “Well, it was worth a try.” 

Blaine wants to stop him, to grab onto his wrist and tug him down onto the seat next to him and wipe that hurt look away with kisses and praise. Instead, he grips the cards tight, the corners of the deck digging into the flesh of his fingers, and avoids eye contact. He’s probably completely screwing over both his business and his love life by saying no but he isn’t exactly comfortable with whoring himself out either. 

“I’ll send my manager over in the morning with the paperwork. I was thinking next Saturday night for the show. You’ll have to close the café early that night. Is that okay with you?” Jesse asks. 

Blaine looks up at him and the hurt expression is gone and Jesse’s face is fixed in a pleasant smile, as if Blaine’s rejection is completely inconsequential, almost as if he never asked at all. 

“Wait, you mean you still want to do it?” Blaine asks. 

“Of course. My publicist will be disappointed, she was really counting on your clean cut charm to help smooth over my recent Twitter feud with J. Lo, but I don’t want to help you just because I think we would have great sexual chemistry. I think it would be a tragedy if this café closed only to make way for another Starbucks,” Jesse says, pulling out his phone and tapping away at the screen. 

The implication that Jesse only asked him out to help his own image stings but Blaine tamps down on the hurt to mope over later. There’s a tiny spark of hope inside him that Jesse’s plan might work and that this could be just the kick start that Rick’s needs to survive. Right now, making that happen is far more important than hating himself for blowing his chances with Jesse. 

Blaine stands and extends his hand. “Thank you for doing this Jesse. It means a lot to me that you’re willing to help.” 

Jesse shakes his hand perfunctorily and then drops it. “I’ll be out of town for most of next week, so I won’t be in again until Saturday, but my people will be in touch. Goodbye, Blaine.” 

After he’s gone, Blaine looks around his café and tries to imagine it filled with people and music, already mentally rearranging the tables to make room for a performance space. Just the thought of it puts a smile on his face and he has to keep reminding himself that no, this isn’t just another one of his elaborate fantasies where Jesse St. James rides in on a white horse and saves the day and that yes, this is actually happening to him. 

\--- 

The giddiness fades as soon as Jesse’s manager informs him of the many, many things that need to be done in order to make Rick’s a place that bona fide celebrities will be willing to be seen in. Blaine spends the week leading up to Jesse’s private show with his Blackberry practically glued to his ear, fielding calls from publicists and event organizers and security, and whatever time he has left once he’s done being harassed by them is spent getting the café in presentable shape. Suddenly every chair is wobbly and there is a cobweb in every corner and Blaine spends more time on his hands and knees scrubbing scuff marks off of the linoleum than he did when he dated that guy who refused to fuck face to face. 

On Tuesday, Everett decides that he hates all of his paintings that have been hanging on the walls for months and takes them all down so he can “reassess his artistic image,” leaving behind rectangular stains and making Blaine wonder if he needs to somehow wash the walls, too. By Thursday they’re back up exactly where they were before, because Blaine had threatened to go to Aaron Brothers and buy prints of  _Starry Night_  and  _Water Lilies_  just to fill up the blank space. 

Friday night and early Saturday morning are spent prepping the food for the show. They aren’t doing anything fancy but one of Jesse’s people (Blaine has talked to too many at this point to remember who)  _strongly_  suggested that he provide food and drink for the guests as a way to show off what Rick’s has to offer. All Rick’s has to offer these days are sandwiches, pastries, and coffee, so Blaine settles on fruit and cheese plates for the tables and asks Tommy to plan a suitable dessert buffet. He mourns the fact that he never applied for a liquor license because as another one of Jesse’s people told him, the only thing that makes celebrities happier than free food is free booze. He just hopes that he can ply them with enough espresso and sugar that it’ll have the same effect. 

They close at 5 on Saturday and a crew of Jesse’s people gets there just before they lock the last customer out, wheeling in sound equipment and extra chairs ahead of them. Blaine has no idea when Jesse himself is supposed to arrive and he is too busy directing his staff to do something useful instead of just standing around and staring and personally cleaning the bathroom until it shines to care. By the time security starts letting guests in and Blaine has finished not so kindly explaining to Karen for the third time that he doesn’t care if she’s tired, she still has to work tonight, everything is mostly in order. 

Not surprisingly, the first guests in the door are his parents. They both stare around the café in wonder, taking in the fresh white tablecloths and the candles and spotlessly clean floors before they make their way over to where Blaine and Everett are behind the counter. 

Blaine hugs his mother in greeting and says, “Hi! I’m glad you guys could make it. I thought you were going to bring Grandma, though.” 

“We wanted to, honey. I know she would have loved seeing this but when we called ahead, her nurses told us she was having an especially bad day today. I don’t think she would have even realized what was going on,” she says, her chin quivering slightly. 

Blaine nods and looks away, letting her regain her composure. Unfortunately, that opens him up to a conversation with his father. He sighs mentally and steels himself for another fight about how he’s wasting his time on a lost cause. 

“I have to admit I’m impressed, Blaine,” his dad says and Blaine can’t help letting his mouth drop open in surprise. “How on earth did you manage to pull something like this off?” 

“I wish I could take credit,” Blaine says with a wry smile. “Jesse came in one day, decided he liked the place, and offered to help. I didn’t really have anything to do with it.” 

His dad arches an eyebrow and asks, “Decided he liked Rick’s or decided he liked  _you_?” 

There’s the disapproval and judgment Blaine knows so well. “Does it matter?” he asks flatly. Now is really not the time to get into yet another argument about his sexuality and he can feel Everett tense up beside him, ready for a fight. 

“No, I guess not,” his dad replies with a shrug. “If all of this really does manage to bring in new customers, I’ll be proud of you for either way. I know you think this is all just luck but none of this would have happened if you had listened to me and given up.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Blaine says around the lump in his throat. He’s never been able to figure out how his father makes him swing so fast between wanting to punch him and begging for scraps of his approval and he hates it. 

Everett leans over and whispers in his ear, “Don’t  _cry_ , Blaine. Perez Hilton just got here. You can’t show weakness in front of someone like that. I think he can smell insecurity.” 

Blaine elbows him sharply in the ribs and stalks off to check on how the hors d’oeuvres trays are coming. 

\--- 

The show is scheduled to start at 8 but Jesse doesn’t make his appearance until after Beyonce and Jay-Z walk in at 8:35. Blaine does a double take as they’re escorted to their seats in the front row. All of the other “celebrities” here tonight are barely C-listers and he wonders if Jesse is actually friends with one of them. 

Jesse makes his grand entrance from the kitchen, smiling and waving for the hundred or so people that they managed to crowd in there. Blaine is really just hoping the Fire Marshal doesn’t pick tonight for a surprise inspection. 

“Welcome, everyone!” Jesse calls out. “I’m so glad you could all make it out tonight. We’re all here to help support this local business. My good friend, Blaine Anderson, owns this place and I thought you all might humor me by letting him open tonight with a song. Blaine?” 

Every head in the room turns toward him and Blaine stands there behind the counter, frozen to the spot. He’s never had a problem performing for a crowd but he’s never had to do it without any preparation whatsoever and he’s  _definitely_  never had to do it in front of two multi-platinum recording artists. Everyone just continues to stare at him and somehow, his feet start moving and carry him forward until he’s next to Jesse. 

“What do you want me to sing?” Blaine hisses, smiling and waving at the crowd. 

“How about,  _As Time Goes By_?” Jesse suggests. 

“Are you kidding me?” Blaine calls to Jesse’s retreating back. 

He sits down at the keyboard, hoping fervently that he remembers the key correctly, and figures this is going to need something of an introduction. 

“So, let me give you a little background on this place,” Blaine says into the mic. “My grandparents opened it back in 1962 and they named it after Rick’s Café Americain from  _Casablanca_  because my grandmother was obsessed with that movie. The song that Jesse has requested I play is also from the movie, and I really wish my grandma could be here tonight because she would have loved to see this song performed live in her café.” 

As soon as Blaine plays the opening chords, the nervousness melts out of him and he forgets all about who’s watching and the fact that this is probably the worst possible song to open Jesse’s set with and just does his best to perform the hell out of the song. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that his mom is crying her eyes out and that Everett is standing off to the side, recording this with his phone, but he does his best to block that all out and concentrate on making love to the audience. 

The last note rings out and the entire café breaks into applause. Blaine can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks because now that he’s no longer in performance mode, all he can think is, _Holy shit, I just got applauded by Beyonce and Jay-Z._  

He stumbles out of his seat to make way for Jesse and retreats back behind the counter, leaning heavily against the Formica next to Jesse’s publicist, Leslie. She’s a tall and formidable woman, somewhere between 30 and 50; her face is too immobile to get an accurate read. 

“That was pretty good, kid. You have representation?” she asks quietly while Jesse says something about the inspiration for his first song. 

“I’m not really interested in making a career out of it,” Blaine says. 

She shrugs and scrolls through something on her phone and Jesse starts up his first song. It’s a slower, more melodic version of one of his heavier rock songs, and Blaine finds himself swaying to the beat and listening harder to the lyrics than he normally would. 

“Hey, I’m sorry things didn’t work out between me and Jesse,” Blaine says as an aside. “He said you would be disappointed I turned him down. I hope I didn’t screw up your plans too much, I’m just not interested in a Hollywood-engineered relationship.” 

Leslie stares at him in confusion for a second. “Kid, I only heard about you a few days ago. What plans are you talking about?” 

“He said you thought my clean cut charm could help rehabilitate his image,” Blaine says, feeling the world slipping beneath his feet. 

“It absolutely could,” Leslie says, “but I never said anything like that to him. You sure you don’t want to give him another chance? I know he’s difficult but I hear he’s pretty good in bed.” 

Blaine turns away and focuses on Jesse’s performance, the intense look in his eyes and the blatant desire on his face as he sings about wanting something just out of reach. His eyes flicker over to Blaine for just a moment and his breath catches from the heat of Jesse’s gaze. 

“Yeah, I believe you,” Blaine says. 

\--- 

Somehow Blaine’s luck holds out and Jesse’s performance at Rick’s gets mentioned in three separate local newspapers and about 10 blogs. Only half of them bother to mention Rick’s Café by name but all of them describe both the café and Blaine himself as “quaint,” “charming,” and “refreshingly down to earth.” He suspects Leslie may have done something diabolical to get those kinds of reviews printed but he doesn’t care whose cat had to die to make it happen because there is an immediate upturn in business. 

His staff, now fully aware of Jesse’s existence, reports back to him that Jesse stops by every day without fail, but Blaine doesn’t see him until five minutes before closing on Thursday night. 

“Hey,” Blaine greets him, his face splitting into a wide smile. “What can I get you tonight?” 

“Just water and a croissant,” he says, taking a seat at the counter and hanging his messenger bag on the back of his seat. 

“On the house,” Blaine says, setting them down in front of him, and Jesse nods in thanks and chomps down on the pastry like he hasn’t eaten in days. 

“Listen,” Blaine starts, “I want to thank you for Saturday. It’s already made a huge difference and I really just don’t know how to tell you how grateful I am.” 

Jesse polishes off his croissant and takes a sip of his water before he answers. “I like food. You could take me out for dinner tomorrow night.” 

Maybe it’s his tone of voice, or maybe it’s the wry tilt of his lips, but he can’t quite tell if Jesse is joking or not. It makes him pause for a little too long while he tries to figure it out and that’s enough time for Jesse to decide to push his plate away, take a final sip of his water, and stand. 

“Or you could just keep letting me eat for free here.” He turns and heads for the door, not waiting for a response. “I’ll see you around, Blaine.” 

Then he’s gone and Blaine is left alone in the empty café, wondering how he manages to keep screwing up something as easy as letting Jesse St. James, Sex God, hit on him. There has to be something wrong with him. 

He locks up, counts out the drawer, and does the closing paperwork in record time, more than ready to get home and curl up in an exhausted heap. He turns off the lights and is wondering if he should text Everett to warn him that he’s on his way home so he won’t have to walk in on him and Cameron doing unspeakable things on the couch again when he hears a knock on the front door. 

He peeks his head around the kitchen door, not wanting to show himself just in case it’s an extremely polite burglar who has come calling, and sees Jesse peering in through the glass. He steps all the way out of the kitchen and Jesse waves urgently at him when he sees him. 

“Hey, I’m glad you’re still here,” Jesse tells him when he opens the door. “I left my bag and it has a script I need for tomorrow.” 

Blaine doesn’t think. Up until this point, thinking has only led to hesitation and missed opportunities and he can’t afford any more of those. So he grabs Jesse by his stupid hipster scarf and reels him in for a kiss. 

Jesse doesn’t hesitate in kissing Blaine back but he pulls away again after only a second or two. “I really did leave my bag, you know.” 

“I don’t care,” Blaine says, sliding his free hand into Jesse’s jacket and running it up the lean muscle of his back. 

Wordlessly, Jesse kicks the door closed and pulls Blaine in for another kiss, his hands coming up to frame his face. Jesse moves his lips slowly and lazily over Blaine’s and their tongues slide together like molasses, and Blaine can’t help but want to try and speed things up. He has been dreaming of this day for years, certain it would never come, and while he has a lot of fantasies about Jesse, right at the very top of that list is stripping him naked and sucking his cock. They can do slow and exploratory later. Right now, Blaine is only concerned with making that fantasy come true as fast as he can before he can manage to screw something up and ruin it. 

He uses the hand he has wrapped around Jesse’s scarf to undo to knot and tug it off and the other to push at the shoulders of his jacket until Jesse gets the picture and helps him take it off. They’re still right in front of the door, so Blaine walks backwards, pulling Jesse further into the café where the light from passing cars and streetlights casts long, dark shadows for them to hide in. He tugs at Jesse’s T-shirt and they have to break the kiss long enough to get it over his head. Blaine takes the opportunity to trail hot, wet kisses down his neck and over his shoulders while he unbuckles Jesse’s belt and undoes the top button of his jeans. He drops to his knees and presses his face against him, rubbing his nose and lips and cheeks over the hard bulge underneath the denim until Jesse’s hand tangles in his hair, pulling him even closer. 

Since he is literally living out one of his fantasies at the moment, Blaine does something he’s always wanted to do and never tried for fear of looking like an idiot and slides Jesse’s zipper down with his teeth. From the sound of Jesse’s sharp inhalation, he doesn’t look like an idiot. If the way Jesse’s hand in his hair is urging him on is any indication, he looks like a fucking porn star. 

Blaine hooks his fingers into the waistband of Jesse’s underwear and pulls them down with his jeans in one swift motion, his cock bobbing in front of his face. With a push on his hips, Jesse loses balance and falls back onto the booth seat behind him. Blaine crawls forward, crowding in close and settling between his knees before he wraps his lips around Jesse’s cock and sucks him in. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jesse says, and Blaine hums around his cock in agreement. 

The taste of his salty skin and the slightest hint of something more is heavy on his tongue and Blaine chases the taste, swirling his tongue around the head and over the slit, lapping up every trace of Jesse’s precum. Blaine pulls back just far enough to lick his lips, the tip of his tongue brushing across the head of Jesse’s cock, before he slides back down, his lips stretching around him. He slides down as far as he can, his hand making up the difference, and Jesse moans softly and twists his hands into Blaine’s hair. 

Blaine falls into a rhythm, his hand and mouth working together to bring Jesse off and his other hand rubbing hard against his own cock. He’s so into the feeling of the wet, hard fullness of Jesse’s cock in his mouth that when Jesse tugs on his hair to pull him off, he simply knocks Jesse’s hand away and keeps going. 

“Blaine, stop. I’m going to come,” Jesse says, his voice hoarse. 

Blaine doesn’t know why that would ever make him want to stop and he takes it almost as a challenge to make Jesse come even faster. Jesse pulls  _hard_  on his hair and Blaine finally has no choice but to let his lips slide off of Jesse’s cock. 

He licks his lips, his mouth already feeling sad and empty, and glares up at Jesse.“ _What_?” 

“You’re very good at that and I promise to let you do it again very soon but I would really like to feel you, too, so come here,” Jesse says. 

He pulls Blaine closer by his waistband, undoing his pants and pushing his boxers down with them before he lies back in the booth and drags Blaine on top of him, rucking his shirt up to his armpits. Their cocks slide against each other and Blaine bucks his hips down, suddenly desperate for friction. 

“See?” Jesse says, thrusting up against him. “Much better.” 

Blaine doesn’t know if he agrees with that completely but he’s tired from working all day and willing to wait for round two if he has to, so he rocks his hips against Jesse’s and kisses him hard and deep, his tongue mimicking the slick slide of their cocks between them. 

Jesse’s hips soon stutter and lose their rhythm and he clutches at Blaine’s back and comes with gasp. Blaine speeds up, his cock sliding through the hot, wet mess between them until he finally comes too, biting down on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse rubs his back, soothing him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

“Here, get up for a second,” Jesse says once his breathing slows. 

Blaine stands, pulling his pants back up but not bothering to button them. He takes his shirt off and wipes his stomach dry before offering it to Jesse. He can just zip his jacket up for the short walk home. Jesse cleans himself up and scoots back until his back is against the wall, making grabby hand motions at Blaine. He slides between Jesse’s legs, his back against Jesse’s chest, and lets his head fall back against Jesse’s shoulder. 

Jesse wraps his arms around Blaine and kisses the side of his neck and whispers in his ear, “ _Now_  can I have your number?” 

Blaine laughs and angles his head back so he can brush his lips across Jesse’s. “I suppose.” 

Jesse cups Blaine’s chin in his hand and traps him there so he can kiss him over and over again until Blaine’s neck aches from the awkward position and he’s dizzy from the feel of Jesse sucking on his bottom lip. Jesse finally lets him go with a final peck to the corner of his mouth and Blaine fishes the Sharpie he uses to write drink orders on the sides of cups out of his pocket. He turns one of Jesse’s arms and scrawls his number and a little heart down the length of his forearm. 

“Is that good enough or should I write my name, too?” Blaine asks, admiring his handiwork. 

“Please,” Jesse scoffs. “Like I could forget that your name is Everett.” 

Blaine gasps in mock outrage and starts to scoot out of the booth but Jesse reels him back in, his arms squeezing him tight. 

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” he whispers in Blaine’s ear. “Now, can we please go find a bed?” 

“Absolutely,” Blaine agrees, turning to kiss him one more time before sliding out of his arms. “Right after I disinfect this booth.”


	2. Companion Drabbles

1.  _“Fine, just don’t let me catch you fucking in the pantry again,” Blaine says._

“We weren’t fucking, he was giving me a blowjob. Has it been so long that you don’t know the difference anymore?” Everett teases.

Everett’s back slammed painfully into the edge of a shelf and he heard a couple cans topple and roll around behind him. None of that mattered, though, as soon as Cameron’s mouth crashed into his, nipping and licking at his lips fiercely as he clawed at his belt. Everett reached for the button on Cameron’s pants but got his hand immediately slapped away. Cameron gave him one more biting kiss before he slid to the floor before him and pressed his face against the hard bulge in Everett’s jeans. 

Everett nudged his hips forward and reached for the button on his own jeans this time, anything to speed this process along, but Cameron knocked his hand away again and pushed his hips back until he was half sitting on one of the shelves behind him. A few more cans went rolling off the shelf and tumbled to the floor and he just knew that Blaine would find out about this because he would never be able to match his brother’s crazy organization system when he cleaned this all up. 

Cameron placed an open mouthed kiss right over the head of his dick and he could feel Cameron’s hot breath even through the layers of denim and underwear. Everett growled at his boyfriend’s teasing and wound his hands into his hair, tugging him close and desperate for more.

“Cam,  _please_.”

Cameron tsked under his breath but finally,  _finally_  unzipped his jeans and pulled his briefs down, his dick bobbing out and brushing across Cameron’s lips. The light coming from the crack under the door was just enough to allow Everett to see Cameron’s tongue swipe across his lips before he lunged forward and took his cock into his hot, wet mouth and then Everett couldn’t see anything except the backs of his eyelids. 

He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stay quiet but the feel of Cameron’s mouth on him, his tongue dancing along the underside of his cock and the slow and steady suction was too much and Everett let out a low and broken moan. Cameron pinched him,  _hard_ , on his thigh and he tugged on Cameron’s hair in retaliation. It was one moan, no one would to hear them.

The door opened then, because Everett is never right about anything, and Blaine stood there, framed by the doorway and wide-eyed in shock. He blindly grabbed a can of non-dairy creamer and slammed the pantry door shut again.

Cameron pulled off of him with a lewd pop and asked, “Should I stop?”

That had to be the stupidest question he has ever heard.  _My boyfriend is an idiot_ , he thought. Thankfully, he was excellent at sucking cock, so Everett guided him by his hair and sighed happily when Cameron’s mouth slid over him once again.

  
2.  _It starts with another photo, a lot less blurry this time, but taken from further away. It’s Everett and Cameron, making out in what looks like the alley behind the café._

Everett tugged Cameron closer by the front of his shirt and together they bumped into the alley wall, their lips and tongues colliding and their hands roaming each other's bodies, desperate for more contact. Everett slipped his hands underneath Cameron's shirt and scratched at the smooth skin of his back, needing to get closer, to feel him inside and out. Cameron nudged his hips closer and Everett could feel him, hard and thick against his hip. 

He reached for the button on Cameron's jeans but before he could make any progress, Cameron knocked his hand away and stepped back, looking around the alley.

"What's wrong?" Everett asked, reaching to pull him close again.

"Didn't you hear that?" Cameron said, stepping out further into the alley to peer around a dumpster.

"I didn't hear anything except you panting for more. So get over here so I can give you more."

"I swear I heard something," Cameron said, falling back into the circle of Everett's arms.

"Would it make you feel better if we went inside? Blaine should be busy out front for the rest of the night. We can use his office," Everett offered, pressing a kiss to Cameron's jaw.

Cameron considered that for a moment, then said, "Will you fuck me over his desk?"

"Of course, baby."

He didn't know why he didn't think of it sooner. Defiling his brother's desk was a much better idea than alley sex. Cameron seemed to agree. He almost pulled his arm out of his socket dragging him back inside.

  
3\. Coda

Blaine pointed the shower head until the water sprayed against the wall before sinking slowly to his knees. Jesse threaded his fingers into Blaine's hair, greedy for the feel of Blaine's lips around his cock, and Blaine was happy to oblige. He wrapped one hand around the base and leaned forward to slide his lips over the slick tip. He flicked his tongue over the ridge of the head and Jesse's hand tightened in his hair, pulling him closer and pushing further into Blaine's mouth until his lips met his hand.

"You should have just given me your number the first time I asked. We could have been doing this for weeks," Jesse said, rocking in and out of Blaine's mouth with small movements.

Blaine grabbed his hip to hold him still and hummed noncommittally around Jesse's cock. He was exaggerating. It had been maybe a week and a half since Blaine first turned him down. He sucked harder and sank down a little further in hopes that maybe that would shut Jesse up. Jesse moaned quietly and Blaine looked up at him through his eyelashes to see Jesse with his head tipped back and his lower lip between his teeth, exactly how he wanted him.

There was a knock on the door, immediately followed by the door opening and a shift in air pressure. Wasn't the point of knocking to wait and see if the person inside would allow you to come in? Blaine tried to pull off, to scramble away to a less compromising position, but Jesse held him there, unable to do anything but feel the stretch of his lips around Jesse's cock.

"Blaine, is my necklace in there? I think I left it on the--" The shower curtain moved aside and Everett's head appeared. His eyes widened and then slammed shut, his hand going over them for good measure. "Jesus, I'm glad you guys finally hooked up but next time lock the door, okay? Is my necklace on hanging on the shower caddy? I'm running late for work."

Jesse wordlessly placed the black cord pendant into Everett's outstretched hand and Everett disappeared again, muttering about social boundaries. 

Once he was gone, Blaine pushed Jesse's restraining hand away to yell after him, "Serves you right!"

"Could you focus, here?" Jesse asked. "We were kind of in the middle of something."

"Absolutely. Let me get right back to sucking your cock, Mr. St. James," Blaine said with an eye roll. 

"That was sarcasm, wasn't it? I think I liked you better as an adoring fan," Jesse said, turning away to reach for the shampoo.

"I may no longer be in awe of your fame," Blaine told him, tugging him back into position "but I happen to still be a big fan of your cock."

His mouth slid back down over him and Jesse tangled his hand in Blaine's hair again while Blaine set out to prove just how adoring he could be.


End file.
